Currents of Time
by ladyofdarkstar
Summary: Dr. Nefertiri Elyss'Thra has taken over as the new medical examiner in Miami. Like everyone, she has her own secrets to hide... until one pops up from her past in the middle of a murder investigation. Now questions will be asked. Reviews are love!
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I know many people don't like to read crossover stories, and I must apologize for the fact that this is, indeed, a crossover story. My last story called Shadows and Light presented a very dark version of Horatio Caine. Mostly, in my mind's eye, I see him as the anti-hero. I see him as a dark knight, the unrewarded protector of the city. I see him as someone that does what is needed regardless of if it will ever change the course of history, or if it will ever clean up the streets of his home. He's fighting a loosing battle and he knows it. And that can leave some very serious and dark holes in the psyche of a person.

This story, however, is something different. ;) This time I wanted to write Horatio as a light in the darkness, not a person consumed by it. It will be a refreshing change for me to write the hero as a hero for a change. I hope everyone will enjoy it.

This story was also inspired by the gaping hole left in the team when Alexx Woods left them. I did not like the other girl that replaced her last season, and I really don't like the new guy that replaced her this season. So, while watching Highlander on DVD, this idea pounced me out of nowhere: What would have happened if, during the Highlander Episode "Pharoah's Daughter," Nefertiri did not kill Constantine's wife. What would have happened if she had left Duncan and Constantine both and went her way in the world? The answer, of course, was to go into pathology and end up working in a crime lab. A place were a former handmaiden of an Egyptian queen could continue her promise to watch over the dead. If you get the chance, I recommend watching that episode of Highlander. It is one of my favorites.

Disclaimer: I do not own CSI Miami or Highlander. I do not even dream of owning them or making money from this. It is strictly for entertainment purposes.

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The blood of youth always had that scent to it, that cloying sticky-sweet scent of orange lollipops left out in the sun and bubblegum sullied with decay. Though time and society had shifted the legal boundary of what constituted a child and an adult, Nefertiri could always tell the difference. That scent hovered in her memory, washed up from the shores of the deepest recesses of her mind. Young, innocent life spilled across the earth. It didn't matter if that earth was in her beloved Egypt or here in the hot topical paradise of Miami, Florida.

Young death always smelled like young death, no matter where it occurred.

"Dr. Elyssthra," Horatio said by way of greeting. He knelt down on one knee beside her on the sizzling blacktop. "What can you tell me?"

"That just because the world thinks itself so advanced as to be at its prime, it really hasn't changed much at all."

He tilted his head to the side, regarding her a moment. He had his sunglasses on, so she couldn't see the thoughts that lurked in his blue-blue eyes. She didn't need to. Nefertiri had worked with the Lieutenant and his team for only a month now, and yet he was becoming used to her odd way of speaking. Perhaps they accepted her strange ways due to the equally odd habits of her predecessor, Dr. Alexx Woods. Dr. Woods had had a habit of talking to the dead like they were people sleeping off a bad dream.

It had lent her a rather unique bedside manner, and had paved the way for Nefertiri to hide her secrets.

"Interesting way to say that," Horatio murmured, looking down at the blood and the body. "But not exactly the answer to my question."

"It's true," Nefertiri shrugged, trying to shake off the muted horror inside her. It was always worse when they body was a child. "I can tell you that she was between the ages of eleven and fifteen, and most likely anorexic. You can see here that the cause of death was probably strangulation. The petechial hemorrhaging in her eyes and the color of her lips admit to that much." She rolled up the child's skin-tight shirt, exposing her abdomen and ribs while still preserving her dignity. "However, this bruising pattern here across the ribs tells me that strangulation may not have been the whole of it. She was sat on, or crushed, or wrapped too tightly to breathe. I won't be certain until post."

"What about the blood?" He asked softly. "Do you believe she was raped?"

Nefertiri frowned down at the dark cherry-colored liquid congealing like melted candy near the girl's pelvis. It looked like it, she admitted, and yet she wasn't convinced. She shook her head, sending the gold beads woven into that one lock of her black hair clattering slightly. The scene looked too staged for her liking. She'd seen virgins bleed just after their first time with a man. Priestesses often had their first times with Pharaohs, a right that seemed prevalent in almost every culture she'd encountered. The King always took what he wanted first.

It still made her angry to think about.

"Best guess?" she shook her head again. "I would say that I'm not sure. The tight miniskirt and top suggest that she was looking for the company of men, but that's not necessarily true. The absence of her panties right now doesn't give us much to go on. She could have opted not to wear underclothing. But the blood? I don't think it's hers, Lieutenant Caine. Again, I'll have more at post."

Horatio rose to his feet, offering her a hand. "Our suspect could have taken the panties with him as a souvenir."

"Theories like that are your department, Lieutenant."

A ghost of a smile crossed his lips. "You are allowed to call me Horatio, Dr. Elyssthra."

She opened her mouth to reply, and the words died on her tongue. A sudden trembling had started in her limbs, a vibration through her head and heart that made the world pull into tight focus. Every leaf and blade of grass almost glowed with the life-force inside of them, and even the wind felt electric and _alive _against her skin. She knew that feeling well, had known it for over two thousand years.

Another Immortal had just walked into her range.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Constantine…

His scent reached her long before she saw him, a muskiness drifting on the air to mingle with the decay of dead dreams. It was a heady perfume, one she knew all too well. One steeped in deception and promises and everything in between. Being near him was like standing in the center of a garden, watching an overly intense sun wither away the flowers until only he and the ash remained. For wasn't that how things had started between them, back when Rome dared to boast how it ruled the world? Marcus Constantine had been at the center of that narrow little world, and she had stood on the outskirts of that center, a handmaiden to her beloved Cleopatra.

He'd burned her to ashes with the intensity of his love, something she learned quickly was a double-edged sword. His passion for her had made what Antony felt for Cleopatra nothing but puppy love. His desire to serve his precious Rome had burned her Egypt to ashes of slavery. While he celebrated Rome's victory over Egypt, she'd plunged the dagger into her own heart, dying with her queen.

Two centuries would pass before Duncan McLeod reunited them and helped to bury the grudge between them.

"Nefertiri," Marcus called, standing on the other side of the yellow police tape.

Horatio lifted an eyebrow at the man in the elegant and obviously tailored suit, and then looked back at his ME. Nefertiri was staring at the man as if she had seen a ghost, a ghost that had personal pain and longing written all over it. From what he could surmise, the man had that same look on his face as well.

"Dr. Elyssthra," Horatio said, letting go of her hand. "Go ahead. I believe we're done here."

Nefertiri looked between Horatio and Marcus a moment. "Are you certain?"

He only nodded, turning back to the gathered officers and other investigators processing the scene. It was his way of giving her as much privacy as could be found in a busy crime scene. She glanced around the street, saw the usual mix of people that always made processing a scene something of an obstacle course. There were always too many people there, and most of them had the right to be there. That was the annoying part. CSIs, uniforms, detectives, body-haulers… even herself as the medical examiner of record.

Always too many people to trample over evidence and the deceased's last vestibules of dignity, and never enough answers.

She was stalling, not sure if she should run to her van and to the safety of the sword tucked beside the driver's seat. Nefertiri had come to count on the crush of people at such events to keep her safe. No Immortal worth their Quickening would start swinging a sword openly in these modern times. It was different centuries ago when sword and dagger were as common as pepper spray and .9mm pistols. It was different just fifty years ago, before cameras and electronic spying devices made each trip into public an exercise in concealment.

And she was still stalling. He was still waiting.

Muttering an oath, she picked her way carefully over to Marcus Constantine. "I greet you," she said softly in Egyptian.

Those expressive lips pulled upwards in the beginning of a soft smile. "I remember a time when your greeting was a lot less sedate, Nefertiri." He replied in English.

"And I remember a time when you wanted to rule the world."

The smile grew all the more. "Who says I don't?"

"Ah, yes," she smirked, peeling off her latex gloves. "Why run the world with politics when you can simply purchase it out from under everyone's feet? Corporate America looks good on you, Marcus. How is your portfolio doing these days?"

His smile began to wilt a bit. "Nefertiri, I didn't come here to fight."

"Then why are you here?"

"Can't you simply believe that I miss you?"

Her gaze was steady, unconvinced, as she reached across the tape for his left hand. The hand that bore that plain yet thick and shiny band of gold on his ring finger. "The evidence says otherwise."

Marcus let his eyes follow hers, a slight wince in his gaze. "There are things that were unavoidable—"

"I told you once that you didn't have to explain anything to me. She's a lovely woman, and I truly do wish you both the best—"

"She's dead, Nefertiri," he managed out between suddenly stiff lips, lifting his eyes to her own. "That's why I'm here. My beloved is dead, murdered. It was Decius. He's alive and well, and I believe he's on his way here. I came here to warn you."

She paled, letting go of his hand and taking a step backward. One hand rose to caress the gold beads in her hair. "He's here?" She asked dumbly. The implications of his words had shaken her harder than she ever thought possible. Decius. In Miami. iAlive./i

"He's coming after us both," Marcus continued, casting a suspicious look around them. He lowered his voice, switching to Egyptian. It was a safe bet that not many people in the world would follow the language, and even less likely that one of those people would be here. "He killed my wife, tortured her, Nefertiri. He hasn't forgiven nor forgotten what we did to him."

"Those were different times, different places where the laws were less than humane." She said in kind.

"Not in his mind, I'm afraid," He put his face in his hands, trying to wipe away the memory of his wife, the memory of a time so long ago when he'd arrogantly stomped though the world like a god among men. "There is no reasoning with him, and after what he did to… I'm going to kill him, Nefertiri. I'm hunting him now, and I'm going to need your help with his body when I'm done."

It was her turn to cast a suspicious look around at the officers busily doing their jobs. She licked her lips nervously. "If you're caught on camera or with witnesses, I can't help you. I'll do what I can—for both our sakes—but I'm not going to give up my life here just yet. I've found the first place I feel like I belong since Egypt. Don't take it from me, Marcus, not yet."

"Do they know about you?"

"No."

"Then you really don't belong here," he said, trying to be gentle and yet… he needed her to understand the level of danger she was in again. And the level of danger she now represented to all those around her. "If they don't know—"

"That's my decision to make," she cut him off, taking a deep breath. "I can't talk about this now. Come by the house tonight. I assume you know where I live."

Some of that smile came back, though entirely bittersweet. "I always do."

"Fine," she stepped back once more. "We'll talk tonight, when I'm free to think about this."

Without another word, she turned away and signaled the body-haulers to come and retrieve her charge. She tossed the soiled gloves in the trash bag set aside for just that reason, and tried to shrug off the eyes that were staring at her. It wasn't Constantine, she knew. It was Horatio. Those blue-blue eyes had watched every bit of her conversation with Marcus, and while he may not have been able to understand every word, he'd read their body language well enough. He would have questions.

She knew then that her happy world in Miami was about to come crashing down.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Chapter 2! Yay! This one is a bit short, and I apolgoize for that. More is to come in the future, and thank you for those that have reviewed and made this one a favorite. The reviews help more than I can say. :D

Disclaimer: I own nothing but my OCs. Not making money from this. Please don't sue.

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Horatio stood on the observation deck of the morgue, looking down at his ME as she expertly sewed the last stitch in their young Jane Doe. There was a set to her shoulders that belied the carefree and sultry attitude that she tried so hard to project. Something had happened between herself and the man at the crime scene, something that didn't sit right with him. It was more than just an old lover showing up unexpectedly. He'd seen that before, hell, he'd experienced that before.

This wasn't a jilted reunion. This was a bone deep worry that cast a glassy look to Nefertiri's odd eyes. It bothered him more than it should. He turned away and headed down the stairs and through the double doors of the morgue's main floor.

"Dr. Elyssthra," he said, coming to a halt on the other side of the table.

She looked up at him, almost stealing his breath with the depth in those slightly tilted amber-brown eyes. Her gaze always gave him the sensation of watching an animal's eyes, feral intelligence glowing beneath those expressive orbs. It wasn't that she made him nervous, exactly. Her eyes were simply strange, almost alien in the light that shone in them.

"Lieutenant Caine," she returned, putting down the scissors and reaching to redrape the body.

His hands came to rest on his hips. "One of these days you're going to give in and call me Horatio."

"And one of these days you will call me Nefertiri," she smiled.

It was an infectious smile, and he couldn't help but smile shyly in return. Even though he still noted a touch of apprehension in her expression. "What do you have for me, Nefertiri?"

She turned back to the young woman, fighting the impulse to stroke back her white-blond hair. "She was raped, but the blood at the scene wasn't hers. The vaginal tearing and bleeding wasn't consistent with the amount of blood found at the scene. And it wasn't her first sexual encounter, either. I sent the rape kit and blood samples to the DNA lab already. Scrapings under the fingernails didn't yield much, no skin cells or fiber samples. There were no defensive wounds on her body, so I sent a sample of her blood to tox, just to cover all the bases. Everything I've seen on and from her would indicate a willing participation in the encounter."

Horatio nodded, his lips compressing in a thin line. "Except for the vaginal tearing and bleeding."

"Except for that, yes," She nodded. "If this child fought back, she isn't telling us how."

"And the man at my crime scene?"

Nefertiri looked up sharply, eyes suddenly guarded. "I'm sorry?"

He met her gaze and held it, the dark smoky topaz of hers meeting the deep sapphire of his. "The man at the crime scene," He repeated, fishing his sunglasses out of his breast pocket. He looked at them, absently unfolding and folding the arms. "You knew him, obviously. And the effect on you was equally as obvious. I'm not trying to pry, Nefertiri. We haven't worked together long enough for me to ask what's going on. If you tell me that you are okay, then I will believe you."

He looked upward again, and once more they stared at each other across the dead. Nefertiri wanted to look into those eyes and outright lie. She wanted to tell him that she was okay, that everything was fine and he shouldn't worry. The safest thing to do, she knew, would be to hurt him. Shut down his kind way of asking after her wellbeing, and stand alone like she always had. But she couldn't do that. She liked it here in Miami, liked Horatio's team and the life she had built for herself.

Because she liked him, she couldn't do either of those options.

Nefertiri broke eye-contact first, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw his lips firm. He reminded her of a lion, all regal and golden and ferociously protective of his pride. Back in her beloved Egypt, a man like him would have commanded armies and had a harem of beautiful wives, all devoted to his every whim. Simply because he took seriously his need and desire to protect those around him. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his lips firm, saw his hands return to his hips as he took a deep breath and let it out.

She imagined the scent of warm musky amber when he did that.

"What's going on?" He asked directly.

"Marcus Constantine," she began, looking up again. She was a warrior, after all. If they were going to discuss her life, she would do it with eyes proud. "He and I have a long and colorful history. His reappearance in my life isn't the harbinger of doom, but it is close enough. His wife was killed by the man that killed my family. That is something we have in common still." It was as truthful an answer as she was going to be able to tell him. What did it matter that two thousand years separated the dates in question?

Compassion softened the steel in those blue eyes, but only slightly. "And he sought you for…?"

"Comfort, I suppose," Nefertiri picked up their Jane Doe's chart and handed it to him. "Jane Doe's ten-card. Maybe you'll luck out and be able to identify her."

He took the chart without looking at it. It was obvious that she wasn't going to tell him the full story. However, she'd told him enough for now…. Enough to start his own search, at any rate. "Nefertiri, if you think for one second that you are in any kind of trouble, I want you to call me, okay?"

"You will be the first."

He would have to live with that answer, again, for now. Without another word, he took the papers he needed and strode out of the morgue.


	3. Chapter 3 Memories

A/N: Thank you all for bearing with me with this story. This is truly a stretch for me to write. Those of you who have taken the time to read and review, or read and add to favorties really make the struggle worth it. :D You all rock!

As ever, I do not own Highlander or CSI: Miami. I am not making money from this. Please don't sue.

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She had no idea why she did it, why she draped herself in yards of white flax material. Maybe it was because she needed the comfort of its familiarity, to remind herself of what she was now and who she had been. Whatever the reasons, she couldn't deny the need to wear the wrap, to put on the heavy black coal around her eyes. She needed to feel _Egyptian_ tonight, and so donned the costume that had once been her favorite mode of dress.

Even the sword at her side, the traditional Egyptian khopesh, was more a measure of comfort than a defensive need.

Nefertiri did not believe Marcus had come to take her head. He was a crafty, clever man, determined and ruthless when he needed to be, but he was not cruel. If he had wanted her head, he would have taken it ten years ago when they had met again through Duncan McLeod. They had fought and screamed at each other, she and Marcus, picking up exactly where they had left off two thousand years prior. But in the end they had parted ways. It wasn't a friendly split, but it wasn't one born of hatred.

Her parting with Decius, on the other hand…

The doorbell rang, shaking her from her darker thoughts. It was time to travel down those shadowy pathways, open up wounds she'd just as soon as forget as heal. Wasn't it the same thing, anyway? To forget was to no longer feel the pain, and to heal was to do just the same, with the added curse of being able to look back on that pain whenever she wished. And there was always the chance someone would come along and rip open that scar, bleeding the emotional poison and pain all over her present.

It was better to forget, she thought bitterly. But that wasn't an option for an Immortal.

Marcus stood on her threshold, a bottle of wine in one manicured hand and his scabbarded sword in the other. "Nefertiri," he greeted, voice gone slightly hoarse at the sight of her appearance. It was like stepping back into time, to when the world had been his and she his greatest treasure.

"Constantine," she replied, stepping back and bidding him entrance.

He did so, taking a moment to glance around the house. It was large without being grand, open and spacious without seeming cold. The décor was leather and dark heavy wood, the latter polished to a mirror shine and accented with gold. Egyptian statuary and artifacts decorated the walls and tables, cartouches—he surprised himself by remembering how to read them—told the true story of the fall of Egypt. No doubt they had been inked by her own hand.

It suited her. Beautiful and bold without being tacky and overdone.

The smile that touched his lips this time reached his eyes. "You've done well for yourself," he commented, handing her the bottle of wine.

"Thank you," She accepted both the wine and his words with a cool distance. "I have worked hard for this life. I have found happiness since Egypt."

He caught the sharp spike in her tone, the warning vibrating within the words. "Nefertiri, don't. Let's not fight now. It wasn't my intention to cause you difficulties with my appearance."

Nefertiri opened the wine, pouring it into two cut-crystal goblets. "Your appearance has caused quite a stir," she offered him a glass. "My supervisor is curious as to what you want with me."

"That would be the redhead I glimpsed at the crime scene?"

"Yes. Lieutenant Horatio Caine."

Marcus pursed his lips, taking a seat when she waved her arm towards the sofa. "He has a keen sense and a dedication to duty that is beyond admirable."

A bit of a smirk pulled at her lips. "You researched him, too."

"Of course I did," he said, sounding slightly offended. "I wanted to know if I could trust the man working over you."

The smirk almost vanished, her eyes beginning to glitter with annoyance. "Marcus, I am no longer your woman. You have no right or say over whom I choose to associate."

"That is where you are incorrect," he sipped his wine. "I may not have a say, but as someone who loves you still, I have a right to know that you are safe."

"You think I can't handle a mortal?"

"Physically? Yes. Emotionally? No."

She curled up in the seat across from him, swirling her wine. "I sincerely hope that a clarification to that statement is forthcoming, Marcus Constantine, or we may very well end up doing Decius's work for him."

He sighed in sheer frustration, nearly slamming his goblet down on the table. It took him a moment to get himself back under control. Only Nefertiri could get to him like that, could misconstrue his protective affections as an invasion into her life. He had to remind himself that while he loved this woman to no end, he wasn't there to fight with her.

Marcus rolled his shoulders, rotated his neck to work out the tension building in his frame. She would always be _suspiro_ to him, the wish of desire in his soul. Seeing her working hand in hand with that redheaded cop, watching the way she responded to him with ease and trust, had almost undone him. In another lifetime, he would have drawn his sword and cut the other man's throat. It would have been a perfectly acceptable way to remove competition for the attentions of a woman such as Nefertiri.

Watching her now, smelling the jasmine and white orchid of her perfume… Was it any wonder that his baser instincts had kicked in?

"You always fall in love with the worst sort of men, Nefertiri," he said softly, staring down at his clasped hands. "This Lieutenant is no exception."

Nefertiri scoffed. "Now you are imagining things, Marcus. I do not love him."

"Yet."

She pinned him with a cold stare. "Meaning?" she prompted.

"That I can see it in your eyes, your body language," he picked up his wine, trying to relax again. "You may not love him yet, but you will."

"And it will be none of your concern if I do."

"You'll hurt him in the end, and he'll hurt you. He's not exactly a young man. How many years do you think you would enjoy with him? How long before he'll start to hate you for not aging?"

"You are free to leave any time you wish, Marcus," she hissed, her mind beginning to travel down a path she was not ready to face. She was lonely, that much was true. But she had not settled on taking a lover yet… or had she?

"A man like him deserves a woman that will give him children," He continued, ignoring the warning in her tone, the way she curled into the chair like she was willing to spring at him in a moment's notice. "Let him go before you ensnare him. Give him a chance to live in his safe and happy little world."

"Like you did to Decius?" she asked bitterly, enjoying the way he flinched. "Oh, I remember him and what we did to him, to _his_ family. All in the arrogant name of 'helping him reach his full potential' as one of us. You of all people should know by now that free will is something that can never be crushed. If and when I decide to pursue Lieutenant Caine, he will make his own decision as to our future. That is something we cannot change."

"But you can control the level of danger he'll be in," Marcus tried again, almost pleading. "Nefertiri, it's selfish for us to bring mortals into our lives. Look what happened to m—" He cut off, had to fight again for control. "Look what happened to my wife, Nefertiri. She's dead now, because I underestimated what other Immortals were willing to do in order to win the Game."

Nefertiri shook her head, trying to keep her temper in check… and also to fight off the dread that his words inspired. Everything he was saying was true, and angered her all the more. Getting involved with mortals always ended badly. But still… "I will not take that choice from him," she said firmly, rising to her feet. "Now if this is all you have come to say, please leave. I have a busy day tomorrow."

Marcus stared at her in utter disbelief. He just simply stared. How could she be so unreasonable, so flippant about the lives of those around her? Unless… His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "You know something, don't you? Something you aren't telling me."

She sighed, shaking her head. "Now you have truly overstayed your welcome, Marcus. I want you to leave."

And then it clicked. It had been so glaringly obvious that he'd missed it. He'd been so distracted by Nefertiri, by glimpsing her near-alien beauty and feeling the power of her Quickening, that he'd assumed it was the only one present. Dangerous, he admonished himself. So damn dangerous to be that careless, to miss what was right under his nose. He wasn't sure if this revelation was a relief, or if it just made matters worse.

"He's one of us, isn't he," he said quietly, making an accusation out of the question. "He's meant to be one of us, and you're protecting him. That's why you choose to work here, and why all my pleading rolled right off your shoulders. You're honestly hoping that he'll live to a nice old age and die peacefully instead of joining us in the Game."

She looked at him, her face a mask of neutrality. "I don't know what you mean."

He wanted to call her on the lie, scream the words "bullshit" into her face. But he just couldn't. Besides, what was he going to do then? Go out and kill the man, force him into the Game the same way they had forced Decius into it? And what if he was wrong? He would have killed a man in cold blood, that was what. If this Horatio Caine was a pre-Immortal, perhaps Nefertiri found her penance for Decius in protecting him. He wasn't going to rob her of that chance, no matter how slim it was.

"Fine," he said, resigned and weary all of a sudden. He passed his hands through his hair, rising to his feet. "Enjoy the wine, Nefertiri, and know that this isn't going to go away. Decius _will_ come for you. And if this Caine is one of us, he'll come for him, too. Just know that I'm not going anywhere until I know you're safe, or I have Decius's head."

Gathering his sword and his coat, he left.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The conversation with Marcus haunted her for days afterward, followed her with a thick foreboding. It was like a thundercloud on the horizon of her thoughts, dark and murky-smelling like black musk. Soft golden light still shone over her mind, a safe halo made of memories and the friendships she'd acquired in this city, but even that was eclipsed by the heavy thoughts. If Decius really was as close as Marcus had claimed, then happiness was already lost to her. She was just walking around thinking everything was fine.

The thought put a permanent twist to her mouth as she stripped off her latex gloves.

Nefertiri did her best to be lost in her work. Taking care of the dead was a soothing process, at least to her. Others may have found it heartbreaking or disgusting, but for a former priestess of Isis and Egyptian handmaiden, it was the closest thing to home she could find. The autopsy was performed with care, much like the removal of organs had been for mummification. Washing the body, arranging the hair with gentle compassionate hands so that the soul would know it was still loved, was an act she performed with reverence.

There would never be a mummification ritual for her, or a medical examiner to look over her body when her time came. She was Immortal, and as such her body would most likely be disposed off in fire or chemicals after her head was taken. No one would be there to whisper prayers, to hold her gingerly. Such was never the way for her kind. Part of her mourned that fact as she finished filling out the chart of her latest patient.

"It can't be that bad."

She looked up swiftly, saw him standing just inside the doorway of her theatre. Amber light made a crown around his head, burnishing the red-gold of his hair. The part of her that mourned fell silent, letting the part of her that was life and joy take the forefront of her brain. Was it a bad sign that just the sight of him chased away her worry? Her lips didn't think so, curving into the smile he had often called mischievous.

"And how do you know that?" She asked, setting down her pen.

"Because you would have told me already if it was," he said, walking in and taking his usual place opposite her, across the table of the dead.

Inwardly, she flinched at his words. She had promised, hadn't she. But she'd also made a promise to herself to protect those she loved from what she was. And she'd made that promise before she'd given her word to tell him if she were in trouble. She told herself it made more sense to keep the first promise, even with her soul screaming that she should keep the second.

"True," she replied smoothly, fiddling with the drape that covered the body.

He noticed the fidgeting, noted how she wasn't making eye contact. Those were two things Nefertiri never did. She never fidgeted, and she _always_ met his gaze. He tipped his head to the side. "I'm going to take for granted that you're still trying to find out how to tell me."

"Tell you what?" she asked carefully.

"Tell me what has you so scared."

This time her head whipped upward, her dark amber gaze meeting his cobalt blue. "I am not scared of anything." She said swiftly.

His eyebrows rose. "You're scared to tell me whatever it is that has you upset," he clarified. "Nefertiri, I want to know what is going on. I'd appreciate hearing it from you before I have to start digging. It would save us a lot of time and a lot of heartache later on."

Shame had her cheeks burning. She hoped to god he was taking that coloring as a flash of anger. "You would open an investigation on me?" She fired back, filling her tone with indignation. "What right do you have?"

The moment she spoke the question aloud, she realized it was the wrong thing to ask. Might as well have asked him to 'prove' something. That same light of challenge flickered to life in those eyes, as well as a spark of hurt and a shadow of anger. She didn't bother to internalize the wince this time. She'd stepped wrong and she knew it.

"Investigation," he continued, his tone as polite and smooth as always, a drastic contradiction to his eyes. "That isn't the word I was looking for, but it will do. And I have a right to know anything that impacts my lab and the people in it. You may be employed by the medical examiner's office, Nefertiri, but you work with me and my team. That gives me more of a right to that information than anything else."

_Not to mention you are my friend, or at least I thought you were…_

That phrase hung suspended between them, caught in the murky eddies of the thundercloud rapidly gaining ground in her soul. She sighed, bringing her hands up to head, rubbing at the fatigue in her eyes. The weight of years and years found its way onto her shoulders in the span of their conversation. It wasn't a welcomed sensation.

She never heard him move, only felt his hands on hers, pulling them from her face. When her eyes met his again, she found concern turning there, pushing aside the other emotions from a moment ago.

"Nefertiri," he began gently.

She shook her head. "Not here, Horatio, please. I'll tell you what you want to know. But not here. Leave me the solace of this place, at least."

He nodded, started to draw her into the circle of his arms… and stopped when his phone rang. Cursing under his breath, he looked down at the display and back up at her. "To be continued," he promised. "You might want to get your kit ready and ride with me. We've got another homicide."


	4. Chapter 4 Puzzles

A/N: A huge thank you goes out to everyone that has read, reviewed or made this story a favorite. :D Thank you for sticking with me with this crazy crossover story I have going on. I also owe everyone an apology for not updating faster with this story. It can be hard to gather inspiriation for a fic like this when the holiday craziness sweeps over us all. Still, I should update more often and I will try to do so.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Wish I did. This is only for fun. Please don't sue!

* * *

The conversation with Marcus haunted her, followed her with a thick foreboding. It was like a thundercloud on the horizon of her thoughts, dark and murky-smelling like black musk. Soft golden light still shone over her mind, a safe halo made of memories and the friendships she'd acquired in this city, but even that was eclipsed by the heavy thoughts. If Decius really was as close as Marcus had claimed, then happiness was already lost to her. She was just walking around thinking everything was fine.

The thought put a permanent twist to her mouth as she stripped off her latex gloves.

Nefertiri did her best to be lost in her work. Taking care of the dead was a soothing process, at least to her. Others may have found it heartbreaking or disgusting, but for a former priestess of Isis and Egyptian handmaiden, it was the closest thing to home she could find. The autopsy was performed with care, much like the removal of organs had been for mummification. Washing the body, arranging the hair with gentle compassionate hands so that the soul would know it was still loved, was an act she performed with reverence.

There would never be a mummification ritual for her, or a medical examiner to look over her body when her time came. She was Immortal, and as such her body would most likely be disposed off in fire or chemicals after her head was taken. No one would be there to whisper prayers, to hold her gingerly. Such was never the way for her kind. Part of her mourned that fact as she finished filling out the chart of her latest patient.

"It can't be that bad."

She looked up swiftly, saw him standing just inside the doorway of her theatre. Amber light made a crown around his head, burnishing the red-gold of his hair. The part of her that mourned fell silent, letting the part of her that was life and joy take the forefront of her brain. Was it a bad sign that just the sight of him chased away her worry? Her lips didn't think so, curving into the smile he had often called mischievous.

"And how do you know that?" She asked, setting down her pen.

"Because you would have told me already if it was," he said, walking in and taking his usual place opposite her, across the table of the dead.

Inwardly, she flinched at his words. She had promised, hadn't she. But she'd also made a promise to herself to protect those she loved from what she was. And she'd made that promise before she'd given her word to tell him if she were in trouble. She told herself it made more sense to keep the first promise, even with her soul screaming that she should keep the second.

"True," she replied smoothly, fiddling with the drape that covered the body.

He noticed the fidgeting, noted how she wasn't making eye contact. Those were two things Nefertiri never did. She never fidgeted, and she ialways/i met his gaze. He tipped his head to the side. "I'm going to take for granted that you're still trying to find out how to tell me."

"Tell you what?" she asked carefully.

"Tell me what has you so scared."

This time her head whipped upward, her dark amber gaze meeting his cobalt blue. "I am not scared of anything." She said swiftly.

His eyebrows rose. "You're scared to tell me whatever it is that has you upset," he clarified. "Nefertiri, I want to know what is going on. I'd appreciate hearing it from you before I have to start digging. It would save us a lot of time and a lot of heartache later on."

Shame had her cheeks burning. She hoped to god he was taking that coloring as a flash of anger. "You would open an investigation on me?" She fired back, filling her tone with indignation. "What right do you have?"

The moment she spoke the question aloud, she realized it was the wrong thing to ask. Might as well have asked him to 'prove' something. That same light of challenge flickered to life in those eyes, as well as a spark of hurt and a shadow of anger. She didn't bother to internalize the wince this time. She'd stepped wrong and she knew it.

"Investigation," he continued, his tone as polite and smooth as always, a drastic contradiction to his eyes. "That isn't the word I was looking for, but it will do. And I have a right to know anything that impacts my lab and the people in it. You may be employed by the medical examiner's office, Nefertiri, but you work with me and my team. That gives me more of a right to that information than anything else."

iNot to mention you are my friend, or at least I thought you were…/i

That phrase hung suspended between them, caught in the murky eddies of the thundercloud rapidly gaining ground in her soul. She sighed, bringing her hands up to head, rubbing at the fatigue in her eyes. The weight of years and years found its way onto her shoulders in the span of their conversation. It wasn't a welcomed sensation.

She never heard him move, only felt his hands on hers, pulling them from her face. When her eyes met his again, she found concern turning there, pushing aside the other emotions from a moment ago.

"Nefertiri," he began gently.

She shook her head. "Not here, Horatio, please. I'll tell you what you want to know. But not here. Leave me the solace of this place, at least."

He nodded, started to draw her into the circle of his arms… and stopped when his phone rang. Cursing under his breath, he looked down at the display and back up at her. "To be continued," he promised. "You might want to get your kit ready and ride with me. We've got another homicide."

~*~*~*~*~*~

They'd left him in his Moroccan rose garden, composed like a rosebud about to reach perfection. To Nefertiri, he looked like he was sleeping lightly, catching a bit of rest on the white stone bench beneath an arc of his beloved flowers. Mr. Jonathan Worthington the Third, fourth generation oil mogul from Texas, appeared as if he had lain down on the bench and died of natural causes.

Nefertiri was certain that wasn't the case. By the noise and commotion in the well-manicured garden, the garishly yellow police tape contrasting against the soft pink and red of the roses, and the annoyed look on Horatio Caine's face, she knew he was certain that wasn't the case, either.

"What can you tell me?" He asked softly, looming over her and the deceased.

"Not much at this point," She replied, gloved fingers roaming over the man's body. "No clear indication of death. No marks of violence or defense. It looks like he died in his sleep. Autoposy will tell me more."

He was still standing over her and the corpse, she noted. Normally her answer would have him turning on his heel and heading towards the lucky detective that caught this particular case, or roving the scene with one or two of his best CSIs, looking for the murder weapon or some evidence to lead him in that direction. Yet now he was lingering over her, framed in the lazy thick heat of a summer afternoon, breathing in the cloying chokingly sweet scent of the roses.

She could feel him like a second skin, like a magnetic static in the air between them that grew worse the closer he got. Her mind flashed back to the conversation with Marcus the night before, and she had to wonder if he was right. Was she ignoring the obvious because of her feelings for the lab supervisor, or was the fact that he was possibly a pre-Immortal causing the desire to be near him?

Nefertiri didn't know, and she was woman enough to admit that the idea of dropping her defenses long enough to find out terrified her to no end. It was safer to hide in the job for now, breathing in the simple scents of roses and—

And then it came to her.

Horatio picked up on the idea almost as quickly as she did. "You found something?" he asked.

"No," she replied, looking up at him with an excited glint in her eye. "But I have a theory. Willing to help me test it."

He knelt down on one knee beside her, eyes flashing with something almost tender before the cool cop gaze overtook them. "Always."

"I believe I know why the killer left him in the garden, or at least did the deed here in the heart of the roses. But I need to get him out of here, away from the flowers to prove it."

Horatio rose, offering her a hand as he did so. Gloved fingers slid over gloved fingers, the latex doing little to nothing to alieviate the pressing feeling of attraction between them. Her eyes locked onto his a moment before she turned to pull away.

"Nefertiri," he said softly, fingers tightening over his. "I know you want to tell me something. What is it?"

She shook her head. "Not now, please. Later," she looked back at him, eyes begging him not to question her again in the middle of the scene.

"Define later."

"Tonight," she said, resigned. "My place after shift."

"I'll be there."

She nodded, not really sure why she had said what she said. But she put that thought away, concentrated on the work. "Is the scene recorded enough for the movers to drag the gurney through?"

He nodded.

Nefertiri waved the pair of men in white scrubs over, watched them load the body of the elderly gentleman. "Take him to the ambulance," she said, "But wait before loading him. I have one more test to perform."

The men did as she asked, and she walked with Horatio towards the waiting ambulance. She stopped beside the body, looking back at Horatio with that slight amusement again. With gentle pressure, she parted the dead man's lips, closed her eyes and leaned in close. She breathed deep of what little breath was left in the victim, and leaned back with a satisfied smirk on her lips.

"Poison," she said triumphantly. "The killer left him in the rose garden on purpose to mask the sweet scent of the poison. The only reason to do that would be that this particular poison is absorbed quickly through the body but leaves no trace in the tissues. Considering the man hasn't been dead for more than two hours, I would think our killer didn't want him found this soon. Another hour or two in this heat and that scent would have faded completely."

"Almost the perfect crime," Horatio murmured softly, however his eyes were sharp, clear with purpose. "What else can you tell me?"

"That more than likely this killer used Narcissus as a base for the poison."

Those sharp eyes looked at her questioningly. "Oh really?"

Nefertiri nodded, signaling the men to load the late Mr. Worthington into the wagon. "My guess is that our victim was allergic to some degree to the proteins in the flower. Our killer knew this and used it to his or her advantage."

"To make it look like an accidental touch or an allergy," Horatio finished.

"That would be my guess," she agreed.

"So that means the killer knew him or knew of him intimately," Horatio put his hands on his hips, head tilting slightly to the side. "Going to tell me how you knew it was a narcissus based poison?"

Inwardly, she winced. It wasn't like she could come out and tell him that she, herself, had used such poisons about two thousand or so years ago. "Botany interest," she said smoothly. "It was one of those facts about a flower that you don't readily forget."

She watched him mull that answer over and finally nod. "I look forward to our conversation tonight," he said, and turned on his heel to go do what he did best.


	5. Chapter 5 Puzzles Part 2

The dead stretched out on her table once again, the body of Jonathan Worthington the Third awaiting her gentle touch and forensic questing. He still looked as if he was only sleeping, and Nefertiri supposed that was a blessing. Some poisons were violent and horrible, causing the flesh to bloat and the heart to explode. Or worse, caused the victim to asphyxiate, coloring the skin with ugly blue and black, painting lips with foamy expulsions of blood and bile as the body fought for life.

Such was not the case with Mr. Worthington. While it was true that he could have met Death with a thrashing convulsion and the killer simply redressed and positioned the body, her gut told her differently. He could have very seriously walked out to his garden, laid down to sleep, and never woken up. Such deaths were usually reserved for monarchs and people of esteem, allowing them to keep their pride and dignity even in death.

Such was the case with her beloved Egyptian queen. The poison of the asp had worked quickly, only a flinch of pain as the snake struck had marred the queen's elegant beauty. And then the brightest part of Nefertiri's heart had laid down in her gown of gold and her crown of jewels and closed her eyes for the last time.

A tear made its way down her face. No matter how many centuries had passed, the memory of the death of Cleopatra would haunt and sting her. How could anyone be the same after witnessing the passing of such a brilliant, compassionate woman?

"You are blessed," she said softly in Egyptian, her gloved hand stroking back the coal black hair of her patient, fingers passing through the wings of silver at his temples. "Of all the ways you had to leave this world, you left it in the manner of all great men and women. Whomever sent you on your final journey had done so with great care, preserving your grace and poise."

Her head tipped to the side, realizing what she had just said. Someone truly ihad/i taken great pains to ensure Mr. Worthington was placed in perfect repose, dressed in one of his best suits. All his jewelry, from the delicate platinum cross beneath his shirt to the rings on his fingers… down to the antique pocket watch in his waistcoat pocket, it was all there as if he were preparing for a gentleman's evening. As if he had known this was his last alive and he wanted to go out in style.

"No," she said aloud, frowning. She picked up the magnifier from her tray of surgical tools, leaning in to examine every inch of him. "This isn't a blessing. This is a statement. Your killer wanted us to see all this, and it wasn't done due to kindness or compassion. This… this is a declaration."

She thought back to the way Cleopatra had specified as to how she wanted her body to be found. Posed in quiet slumber, but refined as if Isis, herself, had chosen to share Cleopatra's body as she passed. It was a message, a final act of utter defiance to the Roman traitors that had murdered her son and enslaved her people. One could die and yet still not be defeated.

So what was the message left behind with Jonathan Worthington?

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Dr. Elyss'thra," Horatio greeted.

Nefertiri jolted, thrown out of her thoughts and her random pacing. "Lieutenant Caine."

Horatio smiled slightly, tipping his head to the side as he always did. "Horatio," he corrected.

A bit of a smile worked its way onto her lips. "Then you must call me Nefertiri."

"Exchanging formality for formality?"

Her smile grew a bit more. "It is only polite, is it not?"

"So it is," he laughed softly. "What can I do for you?"

Nefertiri lifted an eyebrow, not expecting the question. "I'm sorry?"

"You're here in the lab," he replied. "You normally don't pay us a visit unless it's relevant to a case."

Her shoulders hunched a bit, and she wrapped her arms around herself. "True," she admitted. "But today I find myself hoping to be wrong about it."

Concern stole some of the amusement from those sapphire eyes. "You found something." It wasn't a question.

Nefertiri took a deep breath, let it out slowly. "Yes. But I will reserve judgment or statement on it until Miss Valera has finished the analyzing."

Concern flowed seamlessly into that sharp cool distance he wore when working, his eyes peering through the glass walls at the young woman busy behind her DNA station. "I understand. How much longer until Valera has the analysis?"

She glanced at her watch. "Any minute now."

As if on queue, Maxine Valera looked up and caught both of their eyes. She waved them over. "I have the results," she said, and paused in indecision for a moment, trying to decide who to give the report to.

Nefertiri smirked, inclining her head slightly to her right for a moment, indicating Horatio. Maxine handed over the file. And both women watched as their boss glanced over the numbers. His eyes darkened, and Nefertiri swore under her breath a string of words in a language long gone from the planet. "I was correct."

"Yes," Maxine affirmed. "The samples are both from the same individual. Though this person isn't in CODIS or any other databases I have access to."

Nefertiri looked over at Horatio, found him staring at her with the same level of intensity. "The blood is from both crime scenes, Horatio," she explained. "From the Jane Doe yesterday and Mr. Worthington today. I found this trace on the underside of Mr. Worthington's jacket, right over where his heart would be. I… I believe it is a signature, a marking of a serial killer."

Horatio pursed his lips, tapping the report in his hand lightly as he considered. "I don't want to put that label onto our killer just yet," he said at last. "So far we have two victims whose only connection appears to be the unknown blood found at the scene. We need to dig a bit harder and see what—if anything—brings these two individuals together. Thank you, ladies."

With that he turned and exited the lab. Maxine and Nefertiri watched him go, saw him flick out his phone and heard him speaking rapidly with Sergeant Frank Tripp. Both women didn't have to ask where he was going. They knew he was going to find Eric Delko and see if he had any luck identifying their Jane Doe via her fingerprints.

"That man looks like he's on a warpath now," Maxine murmured.

Nefertiri nodded. "It is to be expected. He views Miami as his city. Someone has killed two of his people. To any culture, that is a declaration of war."

"And Horatio's got the strongest proverbial sword out of anyone in the city," Maxine agreed. "I don't think he's met an opponent yet that he couldn't outwit."

Some of the fear came back to her, remembering Marcus's warning that Decius could very well be looking for her… and willing to murder anyone close to her in order to inflict the most pain that he could before he killed her, too. How would Horatio fair against an opponent like Decius, one who had the knowledge of centuries to draw upon? Nefertiri muttered something about needing to get back to the morgue, excusing herself from Maxine with a polite thank you.

All the way back to morgue she couldn't shake the ghostly scents of war. Mandarin, Tonka, and saffron that the priests had used to bless the warriors. Black tea, cocoa, and tobacco leaf of the warriors, themselves. Sanguine red musk and five classical herbs of conflict offered in burning braziers to the gods of war and victory. And over all that was the thick, metallic tang of blood yet to be spilled.


	6. Chapter 6 Conversation

A/N: Look! an update! :P I apologize for the long delay. Things have been crazy with work and real life. A brief hospital stay also delayed my writing time. But I am back in action now and looking forward to seeing what will happen with Nefertiri and Horatio. I guess we will all find out when the story unfolds. ;) Thanks to all that have read, reviewed and made this story a favorite. I appreciate it all!

Disclaimer: I own nothing but my OCs. Everything else is owned by people with more money and lawyers than I want to think about. This is purely for fun and no money is being made. Please do not sue.

* * *

There was a part of her that had hoped he would be too busy this night. Nefertiri paced the edges of her sitting room, eyes nervously glancing at the antique clock that graced the mantel. It was eight o'clock in the evening. Surely Lieutenant Caine had simply gone home for the night. Surely even a man as dedicated to the protection of the Miami citizenry knew when to call it a day and catch some sleep.

The moment she thought it, she knew it was wishful thinking. Horatio Caine would show up at her house tonight, tired and ready to collapse if need be, simply because he said he would. He had given his word and she had given hers. They would talk tonight. And the rest of her future would hinge on the outcome of this conversation.

She paced to one side of the room. Then to the other. Then back again. Arms wrapped around herself. It was silly to be this worried, she told herself again and again. She would come up with some kind of half-truth like she always did in the ages past to dodge the reality of her existence. He would be pacified by what she said and would go his own way. There was no reason to get into the truth of her life with him. For how much longer did she have in Miami, anyway? Five years? Ten if she was lucky?

She could lie to him for ten years, for long enough until her co-workers would start to notice that she did not age. And then she would put in her resignation like before and take a vacation for a few decades. Maybe finally go home to Egypt for a while, see how much had changed and how much of her precious Empire remained. Just long enough until she could present herself as the niece of Nefertiri Elyss'thra and claim the estate and wealth she would leave to herself.

This was no different from any other life she had constructed in ages past. So why couldn't she make herself believe it?

The truth was that she didn't want to lie to him, to Horatio Caine. She didn't want to give up her life in Miami. But she didn't want to face him, either. And she certainly did not want him mixed up in the coming conflict between Constantine and Decius. Both men would kill him in a hot minute to protect their secrets. The thought of his blood pooling around him, his body dead and presented on her autopsy table was enough to almost have her screaming in terror.

And she had never screamed in terror before in her entire life. Not even when she saw the dead form of her beloved Queen. Though the rapid knock on her door had her emitting a rather embarrassing shriek of surprise.

In a fit of purely female pride and ego, she flew towards the door, stopping only to review her reflection in the mirror of her foyer. Her eyes were bright and dark at once, ringed with coal in the tradition of her people, her black hair loose around her shoulders. The black wrap dress dipped suggestively in the front and clung loosely in all the right places. The simple cotton fabric of it changed it from a come-hither-I-want-you gown into a lounge piece.

In a word, it was perfect. Simple and suggestive without being overly demanding. Even the rose scent of her perfume was inviting without being cloying. Satisfied, she took a deep breath and reached for the handle.

For all her mental preparation, all her pep talks to herself about how this evening was going to go, she found herself staring, captivated at the sight of him. He was tired, as she had assumed he would be after the long day of work. It showed in a slight tightness around his blue-blue eyes. But that was the only sign that the day had worn on him. His suit was still crisp, a deep dark grey that highlighted the red in his hair, the paleness of his skin. Beneath that was a simple emerald colored shirt unbuttoned at the collar, and somehow that color brought out the intense richness of his eyes, showing them alert and sharp as ever.

"Hi," he said simply, softly, a bit of a boyish smile on his lips.

"Hi," she replied, swallowing past the sudden ache within her. Swallowing past the thought of what his lips might feel like on hers.

He stared at her a moment, and his smile turned into a grin. "Can I come in, or are we going to talk on the steps?"

The blush that crossed her cheeks was a surprise for them both. Nefertiri shook her head, chuckling to herself. "I suppose that is why they call them clichés, I suppose," she took a step back, gesturing for him to enter. "Because they are true situations that happen, no matter how many times you see them in movies or read them in books. You can tell yourself over and over that such situations would never happen to you, and yet…"

Horatio laughed softly. "I take nothing for granted in this world, even the clichés."

His easy-going manner set her at ease, and mentally she rebuked herself for being so worried about the conversation ahead. What had she honestly expected of him, that he would burst through her door and demand answers? That wasn't his way, even when dealing with the worst of criminals.

"Would you like something to drink or eat?" she asked, leading him into the living room. "I have prepared a light evening meal. Sandwiches and fresh fruit and soup. Would you care to join me?"

He glanced over at the coffee table, his eyebrows lifting slightly. The spread she had set out was amazing. Chilled meats and fruits and veggies, two different dips for them, and a warm pot of soup with sweet crackers that had his stomach threatening to rise out of his mouth and strangle him if he didn't partake. Apparently the power bar he had had during some point in the day had not satisfied him. At least, not when faced the delights before him.

And some small part of him considered her one of the delights. That part he tucked away, silently cursing his libido. He was there as her friend, not because this was any kind of date.

"You call this light?" He asked, flicking a glance her way.

Nefertiri gave one of her enigmatic shrugs, the one that could mean anything and nothing at the same time. "I was not certain what I wanted, so I prepared what I had. Please join me?"

He nodded, taking a seat on the sofa across from her. She poured the soup in silence, handing him a bowl and taking a bowl for herself. And then she sat in one of the elegant wooden chairs, one that reminded him of the ancient days of Egypt. Horatio glanced around as he took his first taste of the soup, absorbing the décor with a practiced eye. It suited her, he decided, all the heavy wood furnishings and the Egyptian rugs and wall hangings. Somehow it fit her to perfection. He could almost see her in white linen and heavy gold jewelry.

"Thank you," he said after a moment. "For both the food and your company tonight. Your home is lovely."

She dipped her head in a slight bow. "You honor me with your praise. I thank you for visiting."

Again they lapsed into silence, the unspoken words floating in the air between them like something heavy and scented. She could almost smell the lilac and wisteria on the air, no doubt carried in by him from the outside gardens. It was relaxing, almost soothing when it mixed with the rose of her perfume. But it was also heavy, almost foreboding, reminding her of funeral scents from cultures long ago turned to dust, and her nervousness rose again.

"Did you find what you were looking for?" She tried again.

He glanced up at her again questioningly. "I'm sorry?"

"At the lab," she took a measured sip of her soup. "Did you find the connection between our two victims?"

"Ah, that. Not at this time," he replied. "I have my theories. It was a good catch on those blood samples. What made you decide to link them together in the first place?"

Nefertiri set down her soup bowl, selecting a bit of cheese to nibble on. "The odd placement of the blood over the heart. It could not have belonged to our second victim as there was no open wound anywhere on him to allow for that kind of stain. I remembered that the majority of the blood on our first victim did not belong to her either. It made logical sense to have them tested together."

"Possibly," He replied, tipping his head slightly to the side, watching her intently now. "However that blood could have come from a prior incident or a family member."

Nefertiri shook her head. "I do not think so. Mr. Worthington was a meticulous man when it came to his grooming. His killer was very careful to maintain that air of grooming when the body was found. That blood could not have ended up there by accident. It was deliberate."

"Are you sure you did not miss your calling when you became a medical examiner?" Horatio smirked. "You could have been one hell of a CSI."

She smiled slightly in return. "I am quite content to minister over the dead. It has been my life's calling since before I could remember."

Again, he fixed her with a considering look. "You have always wanted to be a medical examiner?"

Nefertiri almost froze there, realizing she could have said too much in those vague words. "It was a family thing," she covered quickly, taking a moment to chew a bite of her cheese before continuing. "You could say that almost all the generations of my family have been in the medical field in some way or the other."

"Can you trace your lineage back that far?"

This time Nefertiri's smile was a touch bittersweet. "I can trace it back farther than I should," she murmured. "But that is neither here nor there. And I doubt you came to talk about my genealogy."

Horatio set his bowl aside, nodding once. "No, I came to make sure you are alright. And to listen if you want to talk."

It was the literal moment of truth. The pathways of her future opened up before her eyes. She could lie to him as she had lied before to so many others in her past, continue to walk the lonely road of the burdened soul. Or she could tell him the truth and hope for the best. Hope that he would not call her crazy to her face, or hope that he would not turn her into some kind of living science experiment.

She licked her lips, smoothing her hands down her dress. Stalling for time to figure out just what she wanted to do. "What do you want to know?" she asked at last.

"Nothing," he replied gently. "I'm here to listen, Nefertiri. I'm not here to judge or to interrogate."

She huffed out a bit of a laugh, tucking her feet up beneath her in the chair. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I can honestly tell you that I will be okay, Horatio. This isn't anything I haven't had to face in the past."

He rose and walked around the table, taking the seat next to her. One hand reached out to touch hers. "Will be okay doesn't mean that you are okay in the present. And what you have had to face in your past is just that—the past. Every day is different. Every situation presents its own danger."

"I know that," she murmured, fingers curling around his out of reflex. The heat from his fingers was like a fire on her skin, filling her body with tingles. It would be so easy just to tell him. Just to let one person know the whole story for a change. And yet… "There are things in my past that are private, Horatio," she found herself saying. "Things that I am not proud of in any way shape or form. But these are things I must face. It is difficult."

"I don't know what you may have done, Nefertiri," he replied softly, fingerings lacing through hers. "Or how you have faced these issues in the past. But this time you do not have to face them alone."

Those words nearly broke her, cut through her worse than any opponents' blade. She winced slightly, trying to come to some kind of agreement, some kind of balance with her heart. She couldn't tell him everything, not with Decius and Constantine about to turn Miami into their personal battleground. But could she tell him some of it? Couldn't she unburden her heart just slightly?

She turned her head just as he was leaning closer… and his lips touched hers like flame to a candle. The heat was a flash of pure desire that melted slowly into a simmering, delicious play of flesh on flesh. Her lips parted of their own accord, thrilling as he took the invitation for what it was. His tongue explored her mouth, tasting her while his hands slipped to her slender waist. Within moments she was straddling him in the chair, her arms wrapped around his neck. His head fell back, giving her access to his throat, letting her fingers unbutton his shirt with an aching slowness.

This wasn't what she had planned for her evening, she reflected with a touch of amusement. But then again, sometimes clichés such as staring through an open door or the accidental, innocent kiss, could be just the right kind of distraction that a person needed…


	7. Chapter 7 Horror

A/N: It's been a while. Graduating with a law degree does that to a person. :D But I am going to finish this story. Thank you all for staying with it!

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Please do not sue. This is purely for fun.

* * *

She should not have slept with him.

The thought haunted Nefertiri, chased down the mental pathways of her imagination until her concentration all but snapped. She should not have slept with him or with any man at this point. She could not afford the emotional complication, the worry that would come with such an entanglement. Not with Decius and Constantine roving around Miami like it was their personal sparring ring. And not with the many secrets she had to keep in order to maintain her own existence.

No, she should not have slept with anyone. Especially not Horatio Caine.

It would figure, she thought bitterly as she slammed her car door closed with more force than was necessary. Of all the men in these modern nights to fall head over heels for, it would be the most stubborn, bull-headed, and extremely loyal of cops in the city. More than once she had stated that the man was like a pit-bull with a bone, his proverbial jaws locked around a mystery until he had shaken every piece loose and could see the whole picture. Only then would he let go. She had seen firsthand when dealing with innocent victims.

She could only imagine how much worse he was going to be with someone he was emotionally invested in.

"Stupid," she swore viciously in a language long dead, stomping towards the back entrance to the morgue. "Stupid, stupid, stupid. What were you hoping to accomplish this time around, huh? You know the man wants a family. He wants things you can't give him, and still you selfishly pursue him. Maybe Constantine is right about you. Maybe you are just as bad as—"

She had only a split second to recognize the reflection in the glass doors, to see the familiar face above the starched MDPD uniform. Her eyes widened as the aluminum baseball bat winged towards her head and she knew she would not duck in time. So she didn't fight it, tried to relax her body and accept that the pain was going to be mind-blowing—but she'd survive it. The man behind her was mortal. He obviously had no idea what he was getting himself into.

Irony raced through her mind in those final seconds, the sardonic thoughts that there she stood, lamenting her clandestine relationship with Horatio Caine when it didn't matter anymore. The force that the man was using was certainly going to snap her neck like a twig. She was going to die in a very painful and public way, the security cameras picking up the footage for certain. Even if her body was moved, others would know that she was dead.

Her life in Miami was over. Her relationship with Horatio was now over. Stupid, she swore viciously under her breath as the bat moved in a slow-motion like movement towards her exposed head. So stupid to be distracted by thoughts of her perfect little life in Miami to not notice how it was now rapidly coming to an end.

Nefertiri watched with a morbid-like fascination as the instrument of her mortal death came closer and closer. There was a kind of sweet relief to knowledge that this life was about to end, replaced quickly with the sickly-sweet desire for revenge. Oh, once she had recovered, she would find this traitor to the police force. Find him and find out who he was working for, and then extract her own brand of justice. Her amber gaze nearly glowed as she memorized every detail of this man's face, down to the minuscule nuances of his uniform.

To her attacker's surprise, a slight smile twisted the corners of her mouth as the bat connected with the side of her head. The revolting wet-crunch sound filled the air, and Nefertiri Elyss'Thra, Medical Examiner, crumpled to the ground like so much dead meat.

* * *

Coming back to life was always the worst part.

Inside, she whimpered, helpless to even flinch as bone shifted and flesh mended. Fluids refilled themselves, collecting around her broken vertebrae as membranes stitched themselves back together. She hated it, hating having to experience the process by degrees as whatever it was that made Immortals… well, immortal… began to bring her back to life. She could feel the spinal fluid slithering across shattered bone, twisting its way back into place. Actions under her skin that she was never meant to experience. Bone snapped and crunched audibly as it popped back into place and sealed itself up as if the damage had never been.

And she couldn't even scream in her horror… at least not until the brain became fully functional again.

Her scream came out as more of a gasp than an exhalation of horror. Dormant and empty lungs had to pull in air in order to produce the sound, after all. Still, it didn't stop her from trying. Nefertiri gasped and shrieked, body trembling as precious oxygen circulated through her form again.

It was then that she realized two important things: The first being that her hands and feet were bound, a blindfold covering her eyes. The second being that she wasn't alone.

Scents came to her next, the earthy moist scent of freshly mixed cement filled her nostrils. Fear rose up through the hideous pain of rebirth, and she struggled against her bonds. For beneath that clean street smell was another odor, one far more frightening than it should have been. Lavender-citron with a touch of black musks, the fragrances favored by one of the barbarian Visigoth tribes that had roamed what the world now called France and the northern part of Italy. A fragrance favored by one man in particular.

"DECIUS!" she shrieked, the word echoing back at her like a cruel mocking child.

Nefertiri wrenched her hands to the left and right, pulling her wrists against the cuffs that held them above her head. Her feet were similarly bound, the metal of her chains heavy and scrapping loudly against the stone slab she lay upon. Yet the sounds of her struggles weren't the only scraping sounds to be hand in the cavern. She froze, listening, trying to identify the short _scrape scrape_ sound and place it with the wet-sounding splat that came shortly after.

It took only a moment for her to realize what that sound was… and the terror that welled in her chest was the stuff of legends. She screamed, thrashed, fought as hard as she could. Steeling herself against the coming mind-numbing pain, she twisted as much as she could on the slab and pulled her left wrist down hard. The delicate bones encased in her soft flesh snapped, taking the tiny bones of her thumb with them. Her hand slipped free of the iron chains, the broken pieces of her hand already knitting itself back into shape.

A muffled curse filled her ears, and she rolled again to her other side, protecting her freed arm as much as she could.

"Hold her, dammit!" a gruff male voice called. "I've got the needle right here."

"Shit, man, you know what the boss will do to us if we don't seal her in this crypt. Don't break that needle. It's the only one we've got!"

Needle… they were going to drug her into submission. Then wall her inside a crypt, buried alive behind freshly laid cement and brick. Her mind flashed quickly, trying to pick out the very few locations in Florida that would have an old-fashioned brick cellar-type crypt. There weren't many in south Florida, that was for certain. And she couldn't have gone far before her regenerative powers had taken over, bringing her back to life. That left a window of maybe two hours, tops. Two hours away from the Miami-Dade Crime Lab.

It left only one option: the old cemetery near the docks, in the warehouse district.

She braced herself, trying to slow her heart and still her fears. She was a warrior, a one-time hand maiden of the greatest queen to ever walk the earth. And she would only have one shot at this. Fake whimpers escaped her lips, her body curling around itself and yet laying... prone. Her breath came in erratic puffs, her legs parting ever so slightly.

"Please?" she half-whispered, half-pleaded. "Please, I'm scared. Don't hurt me…"

The footsteps moving towards her faltered momentarily. Inwardly, she grinned. She could almost feel their thoughts clicking a mile a minute in their pathetic little brains. There she laid, this lovely little woman. Helpless. Bound. Sentenced to die by starvation and dehydration. Pleading for her life, no doubt, and willing to do _anything_ to have one more minute of life.

Her captors started forward, a confidence in their steps that hadn't been there before. They'd taken the bait.

"If you behave, we won't have to hurt you." One of them said in what he probably thought was a tough and intimidating voice.

"Dude, Clem, I don't think this is a good idea. Decius said she was dangerous."

"Dangerous? Chained down like she is? My four year old cousin could control her like this. Relax, man, and let's have some fun."

The first one leapt up onto the slab, placing a filthy hand over her mouth. "Behave, girlie, and you'll get to live a bit longer."

She whimpered against his palm, nodding her head vigorously in agreement, parting her legs just a touch. It was enough. The first one went for it, his mouth replacing his hand on her lips, his body crushing against hers. Bile rose up in her throat as she let him stick his tongue into her mouth, rage fueling her limbs as she felt his hands groping roughly at her breasts. The instinct to fight, to use her free hand in a firm chop to his larynx and thereby crushing his throat, was nearly overwhelming.

She fought it down, keeping the other attacker in her thoughts. He still had that needle, still held whatever drug Decius had given them to subdue her. And he wasn't persuaded by her supposed charms as his accomplish had been.

Nefertiri whimpered louder, the writhing she did against the bastard above her and the stone beneath her only half- faked. She wanted him off of her something fierce, yet she wanted something else even more. What did it matter that he thought her movements were attempts to help with his pleasure. A twist of her hips made him shift to the right position, keeping her free hand hidden from the second man. The first was so lost in playing with her form that he barely noticed when her free hand traveled towards one of his pockets…

And the cell phone held therein.

She knew its make just by the shape of it: a standard blackberry. Another twist of her hips, deftly hidden among her writhing, and the phone slipped free of his pocket. It was a simple matter to bring her prize back up to her cuffed hand without detection. Fingers turned the screen face down to hide the glow, dipping it under the loop binding her chains to the stone slab.

She tried her best to ignore what was happening to her body as she typed out a simple and deliberate message to the one man she knew could save her.


End file.
